The Crucial Twenty-Four
by JennaBennett
Summary: Castle and Beckett are running out of time. A murder from multiple angles... *Officially on hiatus whilst I get my head wrapped around this whole career thing...*
1. Chapter 1

The Crucial Twenty-Four.

**AN:** **This is a writing** **experiment of sorts. It seems in the crime fighting world that the first 24 hours are crucial. This is my telling of those hours from the perspectives of both victim and criminal as well as Castle and Beckett. **

_The First Hour_

_The Victim._  
Jane's left boot creaked unsteadily underfoot as she trudged along the unkempt sidewalk. She muttered an expletive as her ankle twinged, a shot of pain coursing through her bone with the movement. Expelling a visible breath, the chilly winter air more than evident from her stiff fingers, she carried onwards. Walking really her only option for getting home - well, back to her hotel - as she was rapidly running out of cash in the foreign American currency and didn't see cab drivers too enthusiastically accepting any other form of money. Besides, she was a fearless kind of girl - in a sense - a stranger on the subway had called her brave for traveling overseas alone just the day before. Granted, there was a slight rush of fear driven adrenalin as she wandered the unfamiliar streets alone. She was a mere mortal after all.  
The walk passed like most others - she revelled in the strange newness of it all, fingertips numb, music blaring comfortably in her ears. She had read or heard somewhere that killers were more inclined to victimize women on their phones as they were supposedly distracted but that knowledge didn't deter her from letting the familiar form fill her hand from time to time as she moved.  
Even with that knowledge at the back of her mind, she would have liked to think she would have ignored the car trailing the street behind her even if her phone had been pocketed. She was generally trusting of human nature in that manner. Logic - to her - stated that people were innately good, only the ones who had suffered some unspeakable tragedy lost their innocence. Call it realism. Call it optimism. Call it Jane's personal philosophical worldview. The label didn't matter. What did matter was that Jane's perception was mere moments from being irrecoverably altered...

_The Detective._  
"Beckett," Castle whined endearingly - sort of, he was aiming for endearingly anyway, although the less than amused expression on Beckett's face led to the conclusion that he may have fallen short on that account. That was unfortunate.  
"Castle," Beckett warned, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she threw her partner a harried look.  
"No. It's late, we're going home. Even with my fondness for paperwork I can't stand another five minutes of watching you practically lapse into sleep at your desk. Home. Now. Not negotiable. I will drag you if I have to," he completed his dramatic monologue by swooping her jacket into the air with flourish.  
"Fondness for paperwork?" she snorted, a patented Beckett eye-roll coloring her response.  
"Phew. That's your takeaway? I really thought you'd have more of an inclination to comment on the dragging part," Castle teased. Taking in her unamused countenance, he hastily added, gesturing to himself, "author, paperwork. Get it?" he chuckled weakly. "Nevermind. Not very punny. Home?"  
"Sometimes I count my love for you as one of life's great mysteries," Beckett deadpanned, rising and allowing Castle to slide her jacket over her arms.  
"As do I, my dear Detective," Castle winked, spinning her to press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "But you do love me nonetheless, which I count as life's greatest miracle."  
"So sappy, Castle," she sighed, tracing his bottom lip with the tip of her finger before touching her lips softly to his once again. "Take me home."

_The Perpetrator. _  
Colin snuffed his cigarette underfoot with a satisfying crunch of gravel echoing through the abandoned lot. Serenity at its finest. The night air was brisk, crisp and clean despite the lingering tobacco in his airways. A fine night indeed. It had been one of those days, hell on earth, his boss on his back, his mother moody, a dull yet fierce ache in his stiff leg. Regardless, things were looking up. A smoke to settle the nerves, or at least tamper down the raw adrenalin, and a plan in place. He was seasoned now. She would be his fourth. Whoever she was. There was always an ideal. Blonde. Young. Pretty in that homely country way. He'd find her tonight, or at least an appropriate version of her. None actually equalled her. But the poor substitutes were close enough. They held enough of the pleasure to spark that pure memory. The act, the intimacy, it allowed the past a fleeting gateway to the present. He ached for the past. For her. He was getting better at it too. He was able to block the flashes of fear and pain that crossed their expressions from his mind and hone in on the potent arousal that drove him and lingered long in his veins after he was done with them. That ability certainly increased his enjoyment of the entire act, it made him anxious to experience it again and again.  
He was powerful. He was unstoppable. He was the hunter. Tonight he hunted.  
The engine of his car coaxed easily to life under the steady twist of the ignition. He cruised the side streets for a while, finding no one suitable. He changed his tactic, maneuvered onto a busier road, satisfied to find it reasonably free from other car traffic.  
The beams of his headlights caught the profile of a figure ahead. Her silhouette betrayed her, slim, slender and young. His body hummed in anticipation. He eased closer, trying to make out her hair colour. Beams from a streetlight bounced overhead. Blonde. His grin widened. Perfect. He passed her and doubled back, slowing the car to a crawl as he tracked her movements. He was in for a treat.

**Additional AN: Advance apologies as chances are I'm going to absolutely terrible at updating this story... Basically I am the victim, in the currently traipsing around overseas regard (plus I started this as I was walking back to my hotel in the dark...) **  
**Speaking of terrible updating, apologies to those alerted to my Wonderland, The Winter Edition fic, I have intended to add more but have been too distracted living my own winter wonderland! **  
**Lastly, you can thank/blame TheTravelBug for this - it was her home I was walking back from after a day of watching an obscene amount of Criminal Minds that prompted me to start writing this... **


	2. Chapter 2

_The Second Hour_

_The Victim. _  
Jane quickened her pace. The car looming ominously behind her, bearing down upon her with each harried step she took. She started an internal mantra of reassurance, "_don't panic, don't panic_," playing over and over in her mind. It seemed the power of positive thinking didn't hold much sway in reality... An electric window whirled open, an eerily serene smile greeted her, the face of a weathered man. Despite that she would have guessed his age at a mere ten years or so older than her own. The delicate creases cornering his eyes hinted at a troubled life for they were deeper than the casual laugh lines of most. Jane suppressed a shudder at the sight, in part from the cold but mostly from odd demeanor of the stranger leering at her.  
He spoke, his accent oddly refined, she'd somehow been expecting a less educated and unpolished tone. It only served to reinforce her discomfort. The adrenalin coursing through her veins screamed run. The rational, kindhearted side of her personality demanded her to stop jumping to conclusions and hear the man out.  
"Good evening, miss. Would you like a lift? Looks like it might rain," it took a moment for the words to filter through Jane's fear-filled mind.  
"Uh, no thank you," she managed to stumble out less than eloquently after an awkward pause. He tipped his hat to her.  
"Fair enough. Hope it doesn't rain too much," he glanced at the heavy fog hanging seemly suspended by the dim glow of the streetlight and chuckled. It held a menacing air that had Jane cringing internally. She forced an uncomfortable half-smile and chocked out a noncommittal response. The window drew closed slowly once again and Jane tentatively stepped back from the curb narrowly avoiding the muddy puddles splaying the sidewalk.  
The car pulled away and she continued walking, maintaining a slightly speedier pace than earlier in the evening. She sensed it were somehow for the best that she were home to her hotel as soon as possible. The journey feeling more like a chore and less like an adventure with every hurried step she took.  
The houses surrounding the path gave way to an overgrowth of vegetation as she started the uphill section of her trek, it did little to lesson the feeling of unease that had settled deep within the pit of her stomach. She rounded a poorly lit bend and the bushes gave way to a clearing of sorts. Her heart plummeted before picking up a resounding rhythm that threatened to beat free from her chest. A parked car lay in wait. A sliver of steam wafting from its still warm bonnet, cutting the crisp night air. She would have startled at the mere sight of the car, unexpected as it was. However, it was the fact she recognized the car that caused the shiver of innate fear to run up her spine. Of course she recognized it, she'd seen it only minutes before when it's less than personable occupant had pulled over to offer her a ride...  
The door jerked open and a figure materialized from the darkness, a lit cigarette burning in his hand, a lopsided grin painting his expression.  
"You like walking?" he drawled at Jane, falling into pace beside her as he rounded his car.  
"Yes, I do," she responded coldly, her eyes remaining firmly locked on the path in front of her. He nodded enthusiastically beside her, apparently in agreement over the virtues of an exercise rich lifestyle. Super. Jane almost wanted to roll her eyes in response to his misguided enthusiasm. She was cold. She was weary. This was ridiculous. She just wanted to be tucked into her warm bed already. She wished she'd gotten the cash together for a cab earlier in the day. Apparently walking late at night in winter in a foreign land was a poor life choice - who would have thought?

_The Perpetrator. _  
So it began. He had her in his sights. Close enough to touch. Far enough to yearn for the moment. He couldn't keep his beam restrained, his lips curving upwards in anticipation. The thrill of the chase. It had an addictive potency that he would never grow bored of. He was, however, tired and bored with the less than titillating conversation he was making with the inane woman. He'd toyed with her long enough, he could read the fear in the stiffness of her movements. The slight furrow of her brow. Her measured response. She was on edge. Flighty and scared. On the cusp of a chaotic attempted getaway, limbs flapping wildly as she sprinted into the darkness, lungs screaming for refuge. He couldn't have that. His leg was still stiff tonight, he wasn't in the mood for chasing her down.  
He wasn't a hugely tall man, but he was stocky and strong, sure of his movements. He'd easily overpowered more capable seeming women. This girl before him was slight, delicate, her hands childlike and small. If her frame was anything to go by, her response to him would also be pathetically petite. She didn't look like much of a fighter, it diminished the task slightly, he liked a challenge. Although, perhaps it was for the best, he still had a nasty scratch from the last girl. She had possessed a lot of spirit, it had almost seemed a shame when the last light dimmed from her eyes. Almost. The shame hadn't been enough to lessen the unfurling desire watching her slip from this world to the next had ignited in him. He hummed as the memory jolted through him, reigniting his hunger. He turned to the girl walking harriedly besides him, drinking in the sight of her shuddering in response. Perfect. This time was going to be perfect.  
He tossed a pebble from his pocket to the far side of the road. Its clattering drew the girl's attention just as he had intended. Before it had rolled to a stop his hand was over her mouth, muffling her screams as he wrapped his body over hers and dragged her ineffectively squirming form to the trunk of his car. A well placed blow to the head was sufficient to subdue her as he tucked her limply into the trunk, shutting her into the darkness. He spun his wrist, cracking the stiffness from it and whistled gleefully to himself. Definitely perfect. No witnesses. No discernible screams. No unnecessary struggle. Simple. Succinct. The very essence of perfection.

_The Detective. _  
The door to the loft fell closed with a satisfying snick. Castle groaned as the silence was immediately filled by the shrill ring of Beckett's cell phone.  
"Ignore it?" he offered with false hope. Her sharp glare was enough to assure him that wouldn't be happening. She pulled it from her coat pocket, glancing at the caller ID.  
"Sorry Castle," she murmured, drawing it to her ear and offering a formal, "Beckett." She hummed here and there before a sighed, "got it. I'll be there in twenty." Castle simply relatched the one button on his coat that he'd managed to undo in the seconds they'd been home.  
As Beckett made for the door he yanked her to him and strode purposely towards the kitchen.  
"Two minutes," he demanded. "Eat some of the leftovers from the fridge and I'll make us coffee."  
"Oh...fine," she deflated, the hard line of her shoulders softening as she took a steady breath. He shot her a simple smile of thanks, she responded in kind before pulling a tray of homemade lasagne from the fridge. She stood beside him as he prepared their coffee and offered him bites of the meal as she carefully chewed her own mouthfuls. The simple domesticity of the moment assuaged Castle's frustration over another sleepless night. He wasn't frustrated for himself, he could tell Beckett was stretched with the workload of the winter season. He was allowed to obsess over her health and well being. That was the prize, or perhaps price, of requited love. Still, this moment, it was one of the good ones. A deserved piece of calm before the storm.  
"I think it's the same MO," she mumbled around a mouthful. He shook his head in disdain.  
"I hate serials. Murder is bad enough as it is..."  
"I know, Castle. It's like they see taking a life as an art form, deliberate in developing their own sick signature, looking for that recognition," she sighed.  
"Sick is right," he growled. "To think Tyson still might be out there," he shuddered at his own words.  
"No. No, Castle. Tyson is dead. We have to believe that," her gaze was every bit concerned, his anger melted under it.  
"I'd find it easier to believe if they recovered a body," he muttered. She pressed her fingers to his cheek soothingly, a slow nod sufficient enough to convey her reassurance. He locked eyes with her, let the depths of her belief linger in his vision before dropping his head to settle further into her touch. She settled the tray of food delicately on the bench, pushing it aside, before engulfing his body with her own.  
" Time to go," she whispered after a moment, pulling reluctantly away from the warm refuge of her partner's body.

**AN: Merry Christmas! **


End file.
